


transe turns right

by liquidsky



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: Mac gives Dennis a massage.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	transe turns right

"Fuck, dude," Dennis grumbles, shoulders stretching back and spine cracking like wayward lightening. Mac's only reply is a weird sort of airy huffing, so he adds, "I'm so _stiff._ " 

It really is just another ridiculous tidbit that Dennis' everyday attitude includes a particularly insistent penchant for arguing in favor of his god-like physique, but even in his most stubborn he couldn't ignore the pain throbbing up his back, a sharp tug on his muscles like someone had shoved a stack of needles up his deltoids. 

Goddammit. 

"Bro," Dennis whines, narrow-eyed watching Mac curve easily over their _useless trinkets_ box, "I might have pulled something." 

Mac _tsks_ at him, of all things, and Dennis counts backwards from fifty and pictures himself shoving Mac down a specially steep flight of stairs; instead of helping, it only really makes him clench his fists over his thighs, inhaling heavy and loudly enough that Mac glances back over his shoulder, finally. 

He grimaces at the look in Dennis' face, meaning he really must have been rocking the full-blown psycho—he leans into it shamelessly, widening his eyes and parting his mouth, sure he's flushing now, and Mac stands up swiftly and steps toward him, pausing with a hand in the air, "You _gotta_ start hitting the gym, bro."

"Excuse me," Dennis says, because—"Have you seen this bod?" And he knows Mac has, so he steamrolls forward like crazy, "Also, when did you get this flexible, dude? I thought you said mass was higher up the list than flexibility." 

Mac pulls a face, shakes his head, "Yeah, dude, but—"

"Besides, it's not like—" Dennis scoffs, "I look incredible." 

"Okay—"

"I do," he insists again, then pauses, "I _do_ , don't I?" 

"No, yeah, you look—"

"Amazing?"

"That's what I was going for, yeah," says Mac, and Dennis is sort of unsure on whether that _was_ what Mac was going for, but either way it doesn't matter as much now because he said it, and Dennis is pretty sure he's fine. He glances surreptitiously down at his stomach, but it looks like it always does, maybe. He didn't think he was frowning but when he looks back up Mac's peering at him with a gaze that means _I'll make you breakfast and watch you eat it_ and Dennis is really not—

"You think I should see a massage therapist?" 

And Mac frowns, breakfast momentarily forgotten, "Uh, isn't money kind of tight right now?" 

"It can't be that expensive." 

"Dude, Frank used to go to that weird spa back in Nicetown, there's no way you find anything cheaper than that".

So Dennis calls Frank, listens to him blabber about one of the masseuses, who Dennis is fucking sure has to be either real fugly or plain _sketchy_ , and thinks of hanging up until Frank talks numbers, then immediately does. 

Mac's sitting cross-legged in front of a different box when he walks back into the room, and Dennis glares at the hole in his jeans until Mac glances up at him and quirks a brow. 

"40 dollars," Dennis says, "but it just sounds gross." 

"It's Frank," Mac points out, and Dennis shudders once before nodding. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dennis hisses, "dammit," and closes his eyes. His shoulders are sure to just straight-up fall off his body if he doesn't manage the pain, and right now it feels more or less like he's been hit by a wood truck and had the trucker molest his tattered corpse.

Which is why he says "yes" when Mac tells him he could do it. Well, what Mac _actually_ says is more like, "I could do it, I mean—it wouldn't be a big deal and I could look up tutorials or something, and think about it—it wouldn't really be that gay because we're blood brothers and you're in need, so, you'd pay for the oil or whatever and I'll have your help to box all this shit up 'cause I'm pretty sure I can't do it alone," while Dennis interrupts him every five seconds with a "yes, okay" until he gets the gist of it and shuts up. 

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose again, feeling another stab of pain. "Grab my wallet, you're buying the oil." 

//

Dennis is spread dramatically over his bed when Mac gets back, looking windswept and ruddy-cheeked. He drops a thin plastic bag on the space between Dennis' legs before slapping his hands together once, "Alright—uh, shirt off? You need to turn on your front too."

And like, okay, it feels a _little_ gay, with Mac watching curiously as Dennis strips off his shirt and turns around, flopping face-down on the bed. The bed dips when Mac kneels up onto the mattress, and Dennis turns his face to the side to blink at him when he says, “You gotta–uh, I read online you gotta sort of push your pants down a little.”

“What,” Dennis asks, not getting the point of having his ass out for this, it’s not like– 

“Don’t know, dude,” says Mac, “So I can get to your lower back? That’s what the internet says.”

“When did you have time to see videos, anyway? You’ve barely been gone for twenty minutes.”

Mac huffs, “I can multitask,” and Dennis knows he can’t really multitask for shit, but he can’t be bothered to argue when there’s a chance he might feel better in an hour. When he doesn’t respond, Mac grabs both sides of his jeans and pulls it down. There’s a faint lick of cold air on his crack, which is quickly replaced by the nearly suffocating warmth of Mac’s body as he climbs over Dennis and straddles his legs, sitting forward over the back of his thighs, too snug against his ass. 

“Uh, dude–” Dennis starts, because really, except Mac squeezes out of the glass a cold slob of oil that makes him stop in his tracks, follows the slick with his warm palms, pressing it into the muscles of Dennis’ sore back. It’s–good, really, Mac’s hands insistent and strong, dragging hard up his sides, massaging smoothly. 

Dennis hears himself groan quietly, a small breath of a noise that Mac answers by pushing his knuckles up his spine all the way to the nape of his neck. It hurts just as much as it makes him go lax, melt into the mattress with the feel of Mac’s heavy thighs bracketing his sides, his fingers squeezing the back of his neck again and again. The slick of the oil makes his hands slide so easy, barely any friction on his skin, like Mac has fit his hands under the surface, pushing forward straight to the muscle. He keeps his touches firm and deep, fingers, palms, the heel of his hand skating from his shoulders down to the dimples on his back, hot and weighty over his ass, too, veering close to the crack then spreading sideways and upwards. 

There’s a sigh, ridiculously airy, and it takes Dennis a second too long to realize it has come from him, that he can’t stop himself from inhaling too loudly, exhaling warm and hard as Mac moves on top of him. He leans forward heavily, slicks his forearms over the curve of Dennis’ spine, too; some friction, then, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. Dennis shivers ever so slightly, the drag of Mac’s hairy forearms sparking electric on his skin. He groans again, and Mac gives him a little shush in return, leans back again, more weight on the back of Dennis’ legs, his hands touching him again. His fingers circle the muscle of Dennis’ shoulders, squeezing hard enough that Dennis squeaks, almost, forces his eyes closed. 

He inhales again and there’s barely any air; the room smells strongly of Mac’s deodorant and cinnamon from the oil, and Dennis feels slack and balmy, eyes droopy, mouth lax. He breathes in again and Mac shifts on top of him, knuckles tracing circles closer to his sides, then up, and when Dennis groans again, Mac pushes forward with his whole body, and Dennis feels–Mac stiffens, Dennis can tell, hands pausing close enough to his body that he can feel the phantom heat of them, but not touching. He sighs, wriggling back softly, “It’s fine–I really don’t give a shit, you can–” Dennis said, eyes still closed, “Don’t stop, come on.”

Mac doesn’t move right away–it’s a ridiculous, quiet moment suspended in time, and Dennis is so relaxed he feels like taffy, like he could stretch endlessly under Mac’s hands. He huffs out a breath, impatient, and Mac gets it for what it is, palms his back again. Squeezes more oil on the dimple of his back, a little pool that he dips his fingers in, glossing upwards, and pushing forward with his hips. His hard-on rides Dennis’ ass when he leans forward to push his forearms down again, and it’s—something, heavy and unexpectedly full, an extra weight that Dennis feels himself loosen up for. 

Mac’s forearms slide up all the way to his shoulders, sharp elbows digging into the planes of his back; Dennis is peripherally aware of how much of Mac must be almost touching him, the heat from his torso bleeding down into him, and there’s a long, heavy second when he nearly pushes up, wants Mac to melt into him. He doesn’t move, though, and Mac stays like that, too close and strangely not close enough, and Dennis is so—his entire body sloppy, muscles relaxing, pain fading away into nothing. 

He doesn’t mind when Mac grinds forward, pushing his dick against him deliberately. He distantly thinks he should—it’s getting pretty gay, his best friend shoving down and huffing out these breathy, almost silent little wet exhales, but instead of shying away Dennis feels his own cock chubbing up against the seam of his jeans. He feels so good, insides gooey and hot, he shoves his hips down and groans, too, stark-loud in the air. 

Mac freezes for a second, but just one if that, before he resumes his movements, this time sliding his oily forearms past Dennis’ shoulders and into the mattress, dipping forward until he’s fit snug, front plastered hot to Dennis’ back. The oil glues them together, gets everything so slippery and warm, and Mac is a heavy, bulky wall of muscle and hair, his stuttering breaths hitting the shell of Dennis’ ear, and they shouldn’t be doing this at all, but it feels good and dream-like, almost, so relaxed that Dennis doesn’t feel they should ever, ever stop. Mac lifts his hips, his low moan cut-off, and Dennis pictures him biting his lips, flushing bright red, dark eyes going heavy-lidded. Jesus Christ—”Can I?” Mac asks, and Dennis feels Mac’s hands traveling down, imagines him touching himself, “Just–it’s not, we can—”

And Dennis really couldn’t give a shit, not now, so he’s nodding and saying, “yes, sure, go for it,” and Mac does, pushing his own jeans down, leaning away from his enough, wriggling to take them off. He touches the waistline of Dennis’ pants, then, and Dennis nods again, Mac’s oily hands rustling against the fabric, and Dennis opens his eyes when cold air hits his bare ass and he realizes Mac must’ve dragged off his underwear too. 

“Is this—” Mac starts, looking troubled, eyebrows furrowed, and Dennis wants so much to feel loose and otherworldly again, to get lost in it, he cannot give a shit, spreads his legs easily and says, “Come on, Mac.”

Mac goes because of course he does, easily, blanketing Dennis’ body in a slick, hot line, grunting against the side of Dennis’ face now, elbows braced on the mattress, thighs skidding together when he pushes forward. He’s still wearing his briefs, worn so thin the fabric only barely there, growing wetter and more insignificant the more Mac grinds against Dennis’ taint, a pressure he didn’t expect, and Dennis goes so pliant, really, lets his eyes fall shut and his mouth slit open, heaves out these desperate breaths like he’s suffocating, because Mac is so heavy and the push of his hard-on so _good_ —Dennis huffs out, “Fuck,” very quietly at first, then Mac’s hands are slipping away from the sides of his head, his weight falling more fully onto Dennis, pawing down to touch his hips, and his voice grows louder, rough and broken, just a little, and he forgets to be embarrassed because Mac groans, too, low and blissed out. 

Dennis spreads his legs even more, Mac moaning along, and he says, “You can—if you want to take them off, you could—” and Mac barely waits for him to finish before he’s shoving his briefs down and shoving the wet, swollen head of his cock against Dennis’ balls, grabbing the oil and moving away just long enough to slather a wet glob that gets smeared around when he covers Dennis again, shoving forward insistently, again and again and again until Dennis is breathing so hard he’s choking, saying “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” in a gross, stuffed litany that gets lost against the pillow when he turns his head and hides his face. Mac’s pounding into the slick space between them firmly, really fucking overzealous, and Dennis is grinding against the mattress and following his rhythm, pinned by the force of Mac’s thrusting, stomach going tight, his legs locking, and he has to turn his face and gulp in a shuddery, loud breath that Mac moans at, mutters, “Holy fuck, Den.” 

Dennis limbs feel sluggish and lax, and he wants—he really just wants to come, the thought of it making him head spin, and Mac’s still moving, forceful and insistent, bulky frame moving Dennis to his own will, and it’s so good, so good. He curls his hands on Dennis’ side so hard he’ll leave bruises, probably, and Dennis feels like he’s losing it, held together by the unrelenting pressure of Mac on top of him. Mac pushes his nose to the back of Dennis’ neck, breathes in, out, in again, the hot flesh of his cock dragging so welcome between his legs, hitting his sac, and Dennis has never once had it like this, like his body barely even belongs to him, but it’s not—instead of harrowing it’s just easy. So, so easy that he lies there and takes it, pressure building inside fast and shocking, and Dennis arches taunt back into Mac when he comes, body going liquid, sheets bunching wet under him, and Mac follows so easy, body rigid when his dick pulses messy and warm onto Dennis. 

// 

He flops down onto him, and Dennis shrugs him off so Mac slides sideways to sprawl face down next to him, still breathing heavy. 

“Jesus,” Dennis mutters, and Mac makes a muffled sound of agreement. The room feels colder and lighter with the high seeping out of him, and it’s just—well. “We probably, uh—”

“Should never speak of this again,” says Mac, sounding very final, and Dennis turns his head to look at him, catches the uncomfortable tension on his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Dennis lies, “That’s what I was going for.”

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm losing my mind about them. what about it!


End file.
